


Will You Wait for Me?

by ArtemisRayne



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2008-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OneShot, songfic. Christian's life, set two years after Satine's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Wait for Me?

Outside the ragged, run-down hotel, the sounds of a vibrant French spring raged. The Children of the Revolution were enjoying the warmer weather in their favourite way: with music and absinthe. It was a miraculous thing how such deprived people could find such merriment in the simplest things. The dirty cobblestone road that ran around the derelict hotel was overflowing with boisterous spirits, but all of this was lost to the ears of one young man.

Christian sat on the windowsill of the dingy hotel suite where he lived and gazed across at the Moulin Rouge theatre. A piece of paper was clutched tightly in one of his hands, and he briefly glanced at it. He couldn't believe it was actually going to happen; a prominent publishing company in Paris wanted to print his story. The story he had promised her that he would write and tell the world. _Their_ story.

Christian climbed down from the window and paused beside the small table, where an old, black typewriter stood beside a thick manuscript and a half-drank bottle of absinthe. Christian ran his fingers over the keys of the faithful machine, remembering hours spent writing out the two greatest works of his life. With this thought, his fingers moved to brush lovingly over the top page, which declared:

_Come What May_

_By: Christian Arthur Blake_

It had been over two years since he had first come to France with a desire to write. He had been fascinated by the rise of the Bohemian culture; people who worshipped freedom, beauty, truth, and above all else, love. A series of the strangest possible events led Christian to being hired to write the first Bohemian play, "Spectacular Spectacular _."_ ' That was how he had met her, how they had fallen in love. Little did they know that there was one thing far stronger than their love speeding towards them with lightning accuracy.

Christian's hand recoiled from the manuscript as if it had been stung, and he reached instead for the bottle. He lifted this to his lips and took a deep swallow, coughing as the strong substance burnt its way down his throat. He had long ago grown used to the bitter sensation, but the coughing only got worse with every swallow. He had seen a doctor about it a few weeks ago, and he finally knew what was causing these fits of coughing, but that didn't make the truth any easier. The worst thought of all was how he would break the horrible truth to Toulouse, his only real friend left. He didn't want the dwarf to know that he was ailing, or how badly he was suffering from it.

Shaking this thought from his head, Christian straightened up. He folded the letter he was still holding and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, placing his favourite hat over his hair, he stepped out of the small garret and made his way down to the street. The air as he walked through the crowds was thick, hot, and muggy, filled with the scents of bodies and an alcoholic musk. Several people greeted him cheerfully, glad to see that he was out and about, but Christian only returned their welcomes with a small wave or nod. He finally managed to make his way to a less densely packed route, and he started along the familiar path that he had travelled a lot of late.

He paused on the pavement as a large plot of grass appeared to his left. There was one tree in the far corner, thick and gnarled with age. The ground seemed to be caught in waves, with small rises and falls. Had it not been for the little grey headstones scattered at intervals, this would have looked to be a place of charm and peace. Christian sighed and walked across the lot until he approached one particular headstone. Kneeling down, he gently kissed the plaque before sitting back on his heels.

"I did it, Satine," he said with a faint smile, drawing the letter from inside of his jacket and flipping it open again. "They're going to publish our story. Just like you asked, the whole world will know about our love." He began coughing again, and he hastily lifted his handkerchief to his mouth. The fit lasted several long minutes, and when he had finally managed to catch his breath again, he wiped crimson from his lips. He heaved a sigh, weighted with sadness and pain.

"It won't be long until I'm there with you, my love," Christian said, setting a hand lightly on the grave marker. "I can feel it with every day that passes. It's getting worse far quicker than they thought it would. The doctor said that it's because I'm still drinking so heavily, but I don't care. I want to get up there before you stop waiting for me. Are you still waiting for me?" Christian glanced up at the sky with tears in his eyes, and for the first time since that fateful day when his love had died, his voice rose in song.

 _I need to talk with you again,_  
_Why did you go away?_  
_All our time together still feels like yesterday_  
_I never thought I'd see_  
_A single day without you,_  
_The things we take for granted,_  
_We can sometimes lose_

 _And if I promise not to feel this pain,_  
_Will I see you again?_  
_Will I see you again?_

 _'Cause time will pass me by,_  
_Maybe I'll never learn to smile,_  
_But I know I'll make it through,_  
_If you wait for me..._  
_And all the tears I cry,_  
_No matter how I try,_  
_They'll never bring you home to me_  
_Won't you wait for me in heaven?_

 _Do you remember how it was?_  
_When we never seemed to care,_  
_The days went by so quickly,_  
_'Cause I thought you'd always be there..._  
_And it's hard to let you go,_  
_Though I know that I must try,_  
_I feel like I've been cheated,_  
_'Cause we never said goodbye..._

 _And if I promise not to feel this pain,_  
_Will I see you again?_  
_Will I see you again? '_

_'Cause I miss you so,_

_And I need to know..._  
_Will you wait for me?_

 _And time will pass me by,_  
_Maybe I'll never learn to smile,_  
_But I know I'll make it through_  
_If you wait for me..._

Christian lowered his gaze to the grey stone, tears flowing freely from his eyes and he gasped as his breath was ripped from his lungs once again. For what seemed like ages, he struggled to breathe and nothing but wheezing gasps escaped him. Finally, he slumped forward over the headstone, darkness claiming his senses and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Several hours had passed before Christian stirred, almost instantly being reduced into a fit of hacking coughs. White lights flashed behind his eyelids as he desperately tried to get his breathing under control again. He finally managed to force his coughs away, panting and wheezing as he lifted himself into a sitting position. He raised his hand, which still clutched the stained handkerchief, and dabbed at the area around his mouth. To his horror, he saw flecks of blood on Satine's headstone, and he hastily wiped them away. He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket, looking around the deserted cemetery to be certain that he was still alone. The sun had sunk towards the horizon, and he knew that the wild midday celebrations would soon be moving indoors as the drunken, lively Bohemians turned to nightly pleasures to express their joy.

Christian looked back down at the stone that bore the name of the woman he had loved. He knew that he must look horrible at the moment. He already looked undignified these days, so much of his youthful glow lost through trials and time, but every time he fainted it only made him look worse. His skin was pale, and there were dark rings that shadowed his eyes. His lips were an unnaturally bright red from being so often stained with blood. He silently thanked the gods that he was alone for now. If anyone were to see him now, they would know that he was ill.

"I should go home," Christian said suddenly, picking up his hat, which had fallen off when he'd fainted, and placing it back on his head. "I do not know how much longer I'll be here and I want to make sure everything is set up for if I do die soon." He stood up carefully and dusted off his clothes. "I will see you soon. I love you." With that, he turned and walked from the lot, trudging the familiar path back to his garret.

Once inside, he pulled the letter from the inside of his pocket and his eyes danced across the page. _Just sign below, and we can begin printing your novel._ Christian hunted down a pen and then quickly scrawled his signature on the line at the bottom of the letter. Then he slipped one final piece of paper into his typewriter and set to work in writing a letter to Toulouse, just in case. He asked that his dear friend be certain that his book still got published, and any money made from it was to be split between Toulouse himself and the Moulin Rouge theatre. He also explained that it had been Consumption, which he had contracted from Satine, that had taken his life and he apologised for not telling Toulouse that he was ill. Once the paper was filled, Christian pulled this out and signed it at the bottom as well.

Weary from the difficult day, Christian leant back in his chair, staring down at the typewriter that sat like a loyal friend in front of him. " _Listen to my heart, Can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time._ " Christian was reduced into a coughing fit again, and he hastily dug his kerchief from his pocket so that he wouldn't get blood on the papers in front of him. His head felt light, and the edges of his vision began to blur. When he was finally able to breathe again, his voice came in ragged gasps, and there was a very distinct wheeze beneath it.

Suddenly another voice, the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, rang out in his head and around him. The words he had just sung repeated to him, and when the other voice reached the chorus, he joined in. " _Come what may, Come what may. I will love you, until my dying day._ " A smile touched Christian's face and with a small gasp, his eyes closed for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Credits: "Will You Wait for Me?" by Kavana.


End file.
